


Broken Angels and Lost Kittens

by FeyduBois



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cabin Fic, Crazy Castiel, Fluff and Angst, Foxes, Gen, Sick Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 02:42:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2635058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeyduBois/pseuds/FeyduBois
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel, a little off-his-rocker, gets lost in a storm and turns up at Rufus' cabin with a pair of lost "kittens" and a fever. Sam fixes them up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Angels and Lost Kittens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FoxontheMoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxontheMoon/gifts).



> This was done for a h/c comment fic meme awhile back. The prompt was:   
> Castiel is in the middle of his search for God when something catches him in flight and leaves him (and his wings) badly damaged and a little delirious. Bonus point if Sam finds him. More bonus point if he thinks Sam is Lucifer. It's raining bonus points if a fever makes Cas mumble a few words in Enochian.  
> I have no idea how the foxes got in there but it's cute, yes?

Sam was in front of Rufus' cabin, hauling in armloads of washed laundry and groceries alone, when his otherwise ordinary day turned weird. Any day Cas turned up right now tended to get a little weird, but this day was going to get exceptionally strange and he didn't even have Dean or Meg around to handle their broken angel.

All Castiel knew was swirling winds and rain that drove into him from all directions and flashes of lightening that were entirely too close for comfort. He was flying... or trying to. He was disoriented, trying to lock onto Sam Winchester's position; he could do it normally, now that Sam had his soul back, but right now Cas was a bit of a mess. He could probably survive the lightening strikes, but his primary concern at the moment was the trench-coat-wrapped burden he held tight to his chest. Determinedly he pushed through the storm, flying over the Atlantic, at last setting down in the woods a little ways away from the cabin. He spotted Sam making a second trip out to the car and he began to stagger forward, suddenly feeling the ache in his limbs, all of them, including his wings... especially his wings. He was drenched and thought that he might actually feel cold, on the whole it was very strange. 

“Sam?” he called out.

But then Sam turned around and he was not Sam... not Sam at all. “Hello dear Castiel,” Lucifer said, giving him that awful grin.

“St-stay away from me!” Cas cried, stepping back, “I don't fight anymore, you ca-can't make me.”

“Cas?” Sam asked, stepping forward. The angel's blue eyes were wide with terror, clearly he wasn't seeing Sam. “It's me Cas, it's Sam.”

Cas shut his eyes and turned his head, shaking it rapidly, and then turned back.

“Sam? I thought you were... he always tries to provoke me... I don't think that he likes it that I don't fight back anymore.”

Dean may have had to ask who was provoking him, but Sam didn't need to, he was intimate with that particular hallucination. “It's okay Cas, he's not here.” Sam took a cautious step forward. When Cas didn't back away he closed the space between them, taking in Cas' bedraggled appearance, the wet dress shirt that clung to his body, and the bloodied trench-coat he held, “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, I...” He coughed, the feeling unfamiliar and painful, clutching his precious burden, aware of how delicate it was. “I need help.”

“You look awful.” Sam said.

Just then a few drops of rain began to pelt down, big, fat drops, and thunder rumbled softly in the distance. The storm, it seemed, had followed him.

“Let's get you inside,” Sam said, leading Castiel into the cabin like a drowsy child. 

Once Sam got Cas inside he nipped out again to grab the rest of the groceries, which he dumped on the counter, and then cautiously reached for the bundle Cas was reverently holding out to him. “You have to help them,” the angel told him, his tone so imploring Sam wouldn't dare protest.

Sam gently took the trench-coat and whatever was inside and set it on the counter. He lifted a corner and something moved. He drew back, startled, “What is it?”  
“Kittens.”   
“Kittens?” Sam repeated, disbelievingly, as he opened the trench-coat.

“They were orphaned, I found their whole family murdered.”

“Uh...” Sam peered at the kittens, only, they definitely weren't kittens... they looked a bit like puppies maybe, but no breed he knew, with compact bodies, scraggly coats, and small pointed ears. “Where did you find them?”

“Svalbard.”

“Huh?”

“Norway, in a cave in the woods... but it was a bloodbath, Sam...” Cas gazed at him with tearful eyes. “All of the others... it was awful. Are they going to be okay?”

Sam looked at the two little creatures, they seemed fine, they were uninjured and starting to move about, one white and the other dark grey; they looked kind of like oversized, half-drowned baby opossums, but more dog-like somehow, and then something clicked in his head. “I think they'll be fine with some care, but Cas, these aren't kittens.”

“Then what are they?” Cas asked as if they couldn't possibly be anything but kittens.

“I think they're baby foxes... cubs? Pups...? No, kits, that's it: fox kits.”

“Oh, okay,” Cas coughed, utterly failing to cover his mouth, and Sam swore he saw him shivering, “How do we take care of them?”

“I think we should take care of you first, get you into some dry clothes.”

Cas shook his head, “The kits first.”

Sam sighed, “Well, we'll get them warm and dry and then see about feeding them. I don't know what they eat... Here,” Sam passed Cas a towel from a basket of laundry he had been planning to fold that night, “You start drying them off with this, I'll get a fire going.”

Cas nodded, obedient even though he was just slightly more functional than a toddler at the moment, and picked up the two precious little creatures. He set both kits on the couch and knelt on the floor next to the couch to gently stroke them with the towel, drying them ever so carefully while he left a wet patch where he knelt on the rug.

Sam had the fire built in record time and added a few extra logs to get it blazing hot. He took off his jacket and hung it up as he went into the tiny kitchen, glancing at the food on the counter... it would have to wait a few more minutes.

Rain began to pelt down on the tin roof in earnest now, a strangely comforting staccato soundtrack to the strange morning that was developing. From one of the grocery bags Sam pulled out a fresh carton of milk, the one in the fridge was starting to go off, and poured a some into a shallow bowl. This he took to the couch and set it in front of the dark grey kit which looked as towel-dry as it was going to get. They were both frightened and sat huddled against one another, not approaching the milk. Cas stared hard at them. “Why won't he drink?” he asked.

“They're scared Cas, we need to give them some time.”

“Okay.”

“You're dripping on the floor, I'll get you some dry clothes,” Sam said, digging through the laundry basket to find a pair of his sweatpants and a Guns'n'Roses t-shirt of Dean's, along with a towel.

When he turned to hand these to Cas and show him to the bathroom he found the angel already stripped naked and reaching out for the clothing.

“Thank you.” Cas said, taking the towel and drying himself off right there while Sam stood awkwardly by and held him the clothes, trying not to blush and feeling a bit like a butler. He couldn't help but wonder if Meg did this for Cas while he was in the looney bin, or if he hadn't needed it then, but was thankful that at least he didn't have to help with the drying or dressing directly. Cas handed him back the towel and his wet clothes and then went back to kneeling on the floor, gazing at the foxes. Where Cas' skin had touched his it felt hot and Sam was starting to wonder if the angel was more broken than he'd let on.

Sam left to drop the laundry in an empty basket and pull out a wood box that had once held a half dozen bottles of cheap rye. He lined it with an old towel before setting it down on the floor between the fire and the couch. Ever so gently he placed the fox kits inside, along with the dish of milk.

“They should be more comfortable in here,” Sam explained.

“They still won't drink...” Cas said.

“I wonder if it's like with kittens and you have to show them.”

“Show them?”

“Gently push their noses in it, they'll lick it off and once they get a taste for it they should start to drink.”

Cas knelt over them, and then pushed the head down of the little white kit so that its black nose was in the milk. It drew back startled, sneezed, and then licked off the milk. They waited, but it didn't go back for more.

“It didn't work,” Cas said, sounding utterly heartbroken, “And now they're going to starve.”

“Don't worry, I think they may be old enough for meat.”

“Really?” Cas coughed again, a congested sound that ended in a sharp, shaking intake of breath; Sam didn't know what to make of this, angels, so far as he knew, didn't get sick, yet Cas was showing all indications of developing a nasty cold, perhaps even something worse.

Sam nodded and stood up to go back to the kitchen. From the grocery bags he pulled out a raw chicken breast that had been intended for his supper. He sliced into the plastic wrapping and then began to cut the meat into narrow strips, figuring that they would prefer it uncooked. Once sliced he placed the chicken into another dish and brought it to Cas and his kits. He removed the milk and replaced it with meat. 

It didn't take long.   
A couple of sniffs and the kits knew what this was. They set upon the chicken eagerly, chewing and swallowing bigger chunks than Sam thought possible for such tiny creatures. He sat back on his heels and watched them affectionately for a few minutes, wondering how badly Dean was going to react... at least they weren't kittens, that wouldn't go over well with his allergies, but there was still that no-pet rule that had been the bane of his childhood. They were awful cute little buggers though.

Cas was gazing at them in delight, watching as they wolfed down the meat. “They're so small but already they're carnivores, tiny little killers. I guess that's the way the world works, it is too bad that a chicken had to die for them to eat though.”

“It's just a chicken, they're pretty stupid.”

“Only because you've bred them that way, the descendents of chickens weren't stupid, and crows are very smart. The birds are descended from dinosaurs you know. I remember the dinosaurs.”

“Oh, that's cool Cas.” Somehow being related to dinosaurs didn't make chickens any more endearing, it made them kind of creepy actually.

Cas coughed again and Sam looked at him instead, taking in the glassy eyes and rosy cheeks in an otherwise pale complexion. He didn't ask permission before entering Cas' personal space, Cas wouldn't have asked anyway, instead he reached out and placed a hand on Cas' cheek, and then the back of his hand against Cas' forehead.

The look he got back was one of absolute bewilderment, “Sam?”

“I think you have a temperature.”

“I am alive, so yes, I ought to.”

“No, I mean you've got a fever.”

“Oh,” he coughed once.

“There's that too. Are you sick Cas?”

“I don't know,” he tilted his head to one side like a parrot, “am I?”

“That's what it looks like, but I thought your grace prevented things like this.”

“My grace?” Cas said, “What's that?”

“Crap,” said Sam, “Did you turn it off?”

“I don't know... maybe? How do I turn it back on? Is there a switch somewhere?” Cas began looking at his body, as if somewhere he had a light switch that would turn on his grace.

“Uh... I don't think it works quite like that...”

“Oh,” Cas shrugged, “I do feel odd, my body aches, especially my head, and right here,” he poked at his face just below his eyes, “Is this what human illness feels like? I had always wondered, it's not pleasant.”

“No, it isn't,” Sam agreed, “Are you cold?”

“I don't...” Cas' brow creased as he thought about that, “Yes, actually, I feel like I am. But it must be warm in here with the fire, and my body is abnormally heated, one-hundred-and-one degrees Fahrenheit.”

“You can tell that?” Sam asked, digging around in the clean laundry again.

“Of course.”

“That's a fever. Go ahead and put this on,” Sam handed Cas one of his hoodies, “But if you get too much warmer you'll need to take it off, even if that's unpleasant.”

“Alright,” Cas said, pulling the sweater over his head even though it had a zipper in the front. 

Sam's phone beeped as he received a text message so he checked it, it was Dean: everythings wrapped up here. be back soon

S: Sounds good. On the way could you pick up some cold medicine and raw chicken?

D: everything ok?

S: Yeah, you'll see when you get back.

D: whats going on samy???

S: Just wait and see.

“Hey Cas,” Sam said, “I know you don't need to eat or drink, but would you like some tea? It'll warm you up.”

“Can we have a tea party?”

“Um... yeah. Sure, why not.” Sam had learned from Meg that the best way to deal with Cas like he was now was to just go with it. He set about preparing some peppermint tea for himself and Cas. Rufus didn't have a tea set or any nonsense like that, but he did have a box of mixed herbal tea bags. Sam laid some cookies on a plate and watched as Cas added more honey than was technically needed while he babbled about bees and the wondrous working of the hive mind. Meanwhile, the kits groomed themselves and settled down to sleep. Sam, sitting on the couch next to Cas, gently stroked the little white one along the head with one finger, watching as it exhaled slowly in exhausted rest. They must have had a long night – so had Cas apparently. Sam knew he didn't need to sleep per say, but he seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes open.

“Are you keeping them?” Sam asked. 

“They must be taught how to hunt, right? But they're so sweet... killer instincts though. The white one is female, the black one is male.”

“Maybe a zoo would take them?” Sam ventured.

“Absolutely not!” Cas sounded offended, “They are wild animals Sam, do you know what your species does to animals in captivity? I have heard their broken cries, listened in on their minds like tangled Slinkeys. The whales especially... the whales were never meant for...” Cas began to cough harshly as he got worked up, “They were never meant to be confined like that, they're...” he started to cough so hard he couldn't draw breath.

“Hey, easy, easy...” Sam reached out to rub his back, “Sorry, no zoos.  
”  
The coughs died down and Cas reached for his mug, finding it empty. Sam handed him his own and Cas took a big sip.

Sam continued to rub Cas' back, it seemed to soothe him, “You feel warmer, maybe you should take off the sweater?”

“Mhmm, m'hot,” Cas yawned.

“Okay, yeah, off,” Sam unzipped the hoodie and helped Cas pull it off. Cas shivered and leaned into Sam's warmth, eventually landing himself with his head on Sam's lap and one arm wrapped around Sam's knees, clinging to him like an overly affectionate octopus. Sam pulled the afghan off the back of the couch and laid it over Cas' legs, resigning himself to being stuck in the spot. The remote was too far away, and he didn't want to disturb the kits or Cas who was closing his eyes, as if he were falling asleep. Instead he reached for the book on Norse folklore Dean had left on the side table yesterday; however, instead of a bookmark inside he discovered a recent copy of Busty Asian Beauties. Of course. Sam rolled his eyes and dropped the skin mag on the table to pursue the legend of Sigfried and Gudrun while Cas actually began to snore, his breathing congested, and then he began muttering in a language that was probably Enochian, barely audible over the rain on the tin roof above. He sounded upset so Sam began to stroke his hair, as he had stroked the fox, easing Cas back into the sleep that was not what angels were meant to do.

When Dean arrived they would figure it out, research into angelic grace, or maybe even call Meg, but for now he would let Cas sleep, even if Cas wasn't supposed to sleep... Cas also wasn't supposed to be obsessed with board games, show up naked covered in bees on the hood of the Impala, or collapse on Sam's lap in a feverish mess. Dealing with Castiel was a whole new ball game these days, but that seemed to be the way things were going when the world was ending and your angel was broken.

**Author's Note:**

> Please feed my ego, it likes kudos but comments are even better!


End file.
